The Blood of Kings
by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa
Summary: Kink Meme Prompt: Regis had a short affair with a married Lady Scientia, and while he cares for Ignis it was vital that no one ever suspect that Ignis is a royal bastard. So instead he ties Ignis to Noctis as an advisor, ensuring Ignis gets some of the deference he's due. Nobody expected Ignis and Noctis to fall in love.
1. Chapter 1

The Blood of Kings

By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-

Author Notes: Let's be honest, I couldn't pretend this wasn't mine. Like, it has all the markers. One of my readers has a goddamn drinking game for my writing, and this hit all her points.

Kink Meme Prompt: Regis had a short affair with a married Lady Scientia, and while he cares for Ignis it was vital that no one ever suspect that Ignis is a royal bastard. If it came out it would muddy the line of succession and that would be disasterous with the crystal needing to be bound to his heir and the war with Nifheim heating up. So instead he ties Ignis to Noctis as an advisor, ensuring Ignis gets some of the deference he's due. Nobody expected Ignis and Noctis to fall in love.

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 **The Blood of Kings**

This was his sin, and this was his punishment.

Regis stared down at the two boys, both of which were so like their mothers it made Regis's mind swim with memories he had hoped would fade with time.

Noctis: his dark hair around his head like a halo, blue eyes that he had gotten from the woman Regis had taken as his queen. They were eyes that Regis had grown to love, and then to mourn as her body gave into the magic of the crystal. He always looked so tired, torn between the light of the dawn and the darkness of all-encompassing night. He was nimble and young, and his body was spread across the bed, contorted in ecstasy.

Ignis: His sandy brown hair was just like his mother's, and Regis could remember the small of it on his pillow. It had been a short affair, filled with lust and desperation and so much need that Regis's body, even so long after, could almost feel the twinge in his stomach. He had needed Arian Scientia, despite the ring on her finger and her husband in his court. He had her coloring, her nose, her smile.

Ignis had his eyes, though.

Anyone who looked into them could tell, except for Noctis.

Noctis.

Regis felt the cane in his hand shake against the stone as he watched Ignis move between Noctis's thighs, one hand between their bodies around Noctis and the other resting on Noctis's head, playing with his hair. Noctis's arms were dangled hap-hazardly around Ignis's body, running his nails down his back, catching on the skin at every thrust, leaving a trail of crescent moons down milky skin.

Regis had known that there would be punishment for his sins against his Queen, his beloved queen who had been taken too early from the world. Oh, how he had been so angry with her in the first days of his marriage. She had simply smiled at him, eyes knowing, when Regis told her of Ignis, of his failure as the king.

"That boy will be your ruin, my sweet," she had whispered as she pulled open her own gown, letting her thighs open for him. Noctis had her skin, that same skin he could see wrapping around Ignis. "I am without an heir, and you would do well to give the Kingdom a Lucis a true king. Without me, my King, you shall be in despair."

A true king.

Regis watched as Ignis leaned down, stealing a kiss from Noctis's mouth. The light of Noctis's chambers sizzled with magic and lust, and Noctis opened his mouth wider to allow the other more access, raising his hand to grab at Ignis's hair. He let the tendrils cascade through his fingers, sweat slicking from his hair down Ignis's cheeks and Noctis's fingers.

After his Queen's death, blood and magic seeping into the birthing bed around her halo of blonde hair, Regis had mourned. He had mourned the way Noctis's eyes grew wide at every woman of the court who passed by, how his arms would raise up to grab at their skirts. He had wanted a mother so desperately, but Regis could not bear to take another queen. There was something that no woman could fill, and Regis wondered if his Queen had been right.

She had come from a line of Tenabraen women; Oracle blood ran through her veins and Regis wondered, more than once, if they gods had whispered in her ear of the past and the future.

Ignis moaned and whispered something to Noctis, kissing the boy's throat. Regis wondered if Noctis felt the same way that Arian had made him feel so many years ago.

Arian. Oh, what would she say if she could see Ignis now? What would she say if she could see her sweet boy, their sweet boy? Would she be proud to see her son above Aulea's? Would she feel the same dread as he himself did as Ignis licked and bit his way up Noctis's neck?

After the death of Count Scientia and his sweet, fiery Arian, Regis had taken Ignis under his wing. The boy was only five and so quiet, so contemplative. It had worried Regis at first, having only known the child Noctis was. Noctis, while temperamental, was loud and boisterous... yet both of them seemed so, so sad.

He hadn't wanted them to be alone. It was his fault their mothers were gone from the world- Arian by daemon and Aulea by bearing the true king, the one the Crystal had chosen as its rightful guard. Regis had thought, foolishly, that by giving them to each other he would be able to promise both better days- Ignis would receive the knowledge and duties befitting someone of his blood and Noctis, Noctis would have a friend. Noctis would...

Noctis would have a brother.

"Ignis, please, please," Noctis moaned and Regis wanted to cry. He wanted to weep and rage and tear down the sky for his son, his sons, because his Queen had been right.

She had always been right

Regis could only watch as Ignis tenderly kissed Noctis's mouth as his hips thrust wildly inside him, listen to the squelching of their bodies rocking in tandem as the heady scent of sweat and sex seemed to infiltrate every part of him.

And when Ignis turned his head to the door, when both boys realized that he was there, Regis knew. He knew.

Ignis would be his ruin.

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	2. Chapter 2

Author Notes: This is kind of just a quick hobby story, so I don't know how often I will be updating or how many chapters there will be. This is more of a writing exercise into Regis than anything else at this point.

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"You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do with my life! I am twenty years old—"

Noctis was a hurricane of rage and anger and blue— blue like the Queen had been, a color that had taught Regis so much in his youth about temper and passion hidden under the depths of the ocean. It was difficult to see the tsunami heading for the beaches when looking only from above. By the time it reached the sand it was too late.

There were no places to run or hide.

Yet Noctis was so much like him; Regis could see himself more in Noctis now than he had when he was a child. All of his youth, hidden away in the Citadel. The first few years Regis did not allow his son from his sight, scared that he would blink and the little boy would be gone. It was his job to look after his son, to hold him and protect him.

And this _was_ protecting him.

It was protecting the _both_ of them.

"Noctis, listen to me—" Regis began, but Noctis threw his hands to his sides, balling his fingers into fists. He could see the pink and white, the bite of nails against sensitive flesh.

After having found them in Noctis's chambers the two men were quick to dress, though Regis still could see the pink raised flesh of the scratches on Ignis's back like they were seared like a brand to his skin. The robe Noctis wore, black like volcanic glass, hid his figure but still Regis had already seen too much. He had seen his sons in positions he never wanted to and there was no way of making it fade away.

Ignis, thankfully, knew that his presence was not wanted and quickly made his way out of Noctis's rooms, only allowing his hand to rest against Noctis's shoulder for a moment. Regis was surprised he was able to hide his anger— but was it fair to be angry at them? It was his fault, for allowing them to be so close as young children. Noctis was always so lonely and Ignis had been the perfect friend—devoted, caring, _loving_.

Regis should have known that it would happen; letting the two become so dependent upon one another was **his** fault. He should have kept distance, told Ignis what was an was not proper for an advisor and chamberlain to the young prince. It was his duty to serve the future king, not to... not to...

"No! I don't care about what you have to say. I'm not going to to stop my relationship with Ignis."

Regis winced. He did not want to hear that desperate note, the way Noctis's mouth formed around Ignis's name.

"You don't understand, Noctis. I cannot accept your relationship with him. It isn't—"

"I don't care about your _**permission**_. I'm not married and I am allowed to have my retainer—" Noctis's nostrils flared, "—no, my _lover_ — be with me. There's nothing against me having him as my lover. Most kings in our line did, and I'm sure you did, too."

Noctis was right; he had a lover. He had a lover with sandy brown hair and sharp cheekbones.

"Noctis, you cannot continue this—"

"Why the fuck not?!"

"Because I said so—"

"I don't care what you say—"

"He's my son!"

Noctis looked as though Regis had punched him in the throat; his eyes went wide, mouth fell open, and Regis could tell from the little breaths that Noctis was panicking, like he had when he was a little boy. He immediately regretted his words, wishing he could take them back.

"W—what?"

Regis reached out for his son but was met with blue magic as Noctis warped across the room, as far away from him as possible.

"Noctis— wait, let me explain," Regis began as he turned toward Noctis.

The younger man looked like a trapped and wounded animal, eyes skittering toward the exit. This wasn't how Regis wanted Noctis to find ou—he never wanted to share this secret, hidden shame.

"Listen to me—"

"You're lying," Noctis spit, though his eyes told another story. Connecting the dots, trying to trace back through time and history. "You're a shitty father but you wouldn't just..."

Regis opted against walking toward Noctis, instead standing in the center of the man's chambers— far enough away to give space, to not overwhelm.

"I took him after his mother passed on. I wanted you to... I didn't want you to be lonely. I wanted you to have a family, a brother—"

The word was like a slap to the face and Noctis stumbled backward into a nearby dresser, sending a book and a pair of glasses to the ground. (Noctis did not wear glasses and it made Regis wince at just the thought of whose glasses they were.)

"A b—brother?" Noctis stared up numbly at Regis. "Stop with this sick fucking _joke_ —"

"It is not a joke, Noctis. You are the true heir, the son of Lucis. You are the Crystal's chosen king. But you were not my firstborn." Even admitting the words reminded Regis of the past, the first time he had seen Arian with the newborn babe in her arms at court. She smiled to him and presented the boy, the tuft of sandy brown hair atop his head, green eyes wide and imploring...

Regis called for her to hand him the little bundle and she did it with a smile; it wasn't uncommon for King Regis to ask to see the children, having done it with the Amicitia boy when he was introduced to the court. If he spent a little longer looking over his fingers and toes, to listen to his coo, then most would only imagine it was in the hopes for his own. It wasn't a secret that Queen Aulea had yet to produce an heir, mostly through petulance on Regis's part, though none but they knew of it...

And he had loved Ignis, not because it was his duty but because he had seen himself in those eyes. He had known without words who Ignis was and knew that life as a bastard was cruel and capricious; it was better for Arian, better for Ignis, to stay in the shadows of the court. Some from Niflheim and the other outlying cities would love nothing more than to have a bastard dead or in their grasp. While a prince would be protected with the blood of Lucian Sons, a bastard? Someone who could be a Usurper?

They would have left him to die.

"You're lying," Noctis babbled, and Regis had to admit that he had never seen his son so unwoven, "don't say that—"

"Noctis..."

"Does he know?" Noctis's voice cracked and had it been any other conversation, Noctis would have been embarrassed. He was still too young for this, still too young...

Regis looked at the pile of clothing at the foot of the bed, the silver buttons glinting against the thick black cloak. An outfit made for a prince, for the King's fiftieth birthday celebration. Noctis was supposed to be there until the morning for their annual game of chess; that was the only reason why he had stayed the night in his old chambers. All Regis wanted was to check in on his son, to speak of the future and his promise to keep the Wall at bay... at least for a little longer.

He knew they were close; when Ignis was ten he slept in the same bed next to Noctis for nine months. Regis knew it was to keep the prince from his nightmares after returning from the broken shell of what was once Tenebrae, and he had thanked Ignis for being there for Noctis. Ignis had the protective edge, always worrying for Noctis's well-being, and yet never had he thought... never had he even had the nightmare of...

"No."

Noctis sucked in a breath, hands shaking. He was heading toward the door, his half-tied robe flapping in his quick movements. "Good. Keep that to yourself. I—I'm going. I... I _can't_."

Regis couldn't stop him and didn't try, watching the blue magic swirling across the room as Noctis took off, only noticing after the decoys disappeared that his cloak and the rest of his clothing was gone.

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	3. Chapter 3

Author Notes: Noctis is going to have to deal with what to do about Ignis. I don't like the idea of Noctis lying to Ignis or hiding this for long... but for this moment, I think Noctis needs to digest the information that was just thrown at him.

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"Ignis, Ignis!"

Ignis turned to see Noctis, thankful that the party for the King had dwindled down enough that no one but a scant number of the Kingsglaive could see them; no doubt it would look odd for the Chamberlain to be caught with the Prince, especially if they could see Noctis's robe and the clothes bunched in his hand. He was pretty sure that the Glaive knew of what was going on between them, as they were required to give around-the-clock attention to the Prince, but he knew that they were sworn to secrecy. Whatever Noctis did, as long as it did not affect his princely duties, was not to be told to King Regis.

It was royal decree; it was supposed to give Noctis the chance to be normal, to be happy.

Yet, royal decree or no, Ignis knew that if the king had his suspicions before, well…

Now he knew for certain.

That look in the King's eyes, it made Ignis's stomach roll and contort into knots. That pain, the anger, the fear.

Why was King Regis so scared?

Ignis knew of his duties, knew what would be required of him. One day, not in the too distant future, Ignis would be the man next to Noctis as he vowed his life to another. He could almost see her white dress, the fabric pulled at her waist, delicate blonde hair atop her head. Her crown would be nestled in her curls, ad even the thought of it made bile rise to the back of his tongue.

And yet Ignis knew that he would hand Noctis the box with the rings, would clap as he kissed his future bride, would devote his life and limb and very being for the man who would never be his.

He had known it since they were children. Ignis could barely remember his mother or his father, but he could remember Noctis. Noctis, always Noctis.

It wasn't healthy, it wasn't sane, but Ignis had fallen so desperately in love with his prince, his charge, and the thought of what this blasted, dreadful night would do….

Looking into Noctis's wild, panicked eyes made the pain rise up into his chest.

King Regis was not cruel; he ruled with a kind touch to his people. Yet, none of them had been caught with Noctis, none of them had felt Noctis around them, none of them had fallen in love with Noctis.

He would be lucky if he still had his head in the morning.

"Ignis, wait. Stop, please."

Ignis stopped at a door to the library, knowing that inside would be empty. He opened the door and waited for Noctis to arrive, quickly locking the door the moment they were both inside.

"Noctis, I think it best if I were to leave," Ignis began, but Noctis threw down his clothes and wrapped his arms around Ignis, holding on for dear life.

"Please, take me with you. I don't want to be here right now."

"Your father will be furious."

"Fuck him, just…. Fuck him. He doesn't get to tell me this, he doesn't get to do this." Noctis's eyes were bright like stars, and it was hard to deny Noctis anything when he looked up at him with such anguish, such longing. His fingers were bunched in Ignis's suit, trying desperately to bury himself inside of the other man. "Just… for tonight, just take me back with you."

Ignis could only think of King Regis's green eyes, so hurt and angry.

It had been the most uncomfortable moment Ignis had ever experienced, his body and Noctis's coming together in orgasm just as he realized that the King looked upon them. How long had he watched the lowly advisor moving inside of his heir? Would each moment count as a whipping blow?

The king was kind unless Noctis was involved. And he would bear whatever punishment would come, but he would not allow Noctis to suffer because of him.

"Noctis, we shouldn't."

"Ignis," Noctis's voice broke and Ignis realized that there was something more to this, something he could not understand as Noctis's legs seemed to give out from under him. Noctis was not a weak man, but from the snarl and sudden pull at his side, Ignis realized that it was more than just emotional pain that brought him to his knees.

He went down with Noctis, like he always would.

"Fuck," Noctis hissed as he let go of Ignis, grabbing at his side. "I shouldn't have done that."

Ignis was quick to undo his lover's robe, pulling the side down to see the flash of black and blue already rising to the surface near the scar the Marilith had given him so long ago. It made the scarred skin look inhuman.

"Did he do this to you?" Ignis reached out to gently press his fingers against the skin, whispering a soothing word as he checked to see if there was a broken rib. Lucky his fingers only met tender, bruised skin.

Noctis hissed again as Ignis inspected his wound. "I fell into the bookcase. He didn't do this."

Ignis wanted to question him, wanted to make sure that he was telling the truth, but Noctis would not lie to him about such a serious accusation. He wouldn't lie to him about this.

"This is my fault, Noctis," he whispered as he withdrew his hands. "I shouldn't have… not in the castle."

"No, you don't apologize for this. Never apologize for this." There was something in his voice, in the undercurrent of his words that Ignis knew to be the sound of Noctis being serious. He didn't use it often, but when he did… "They were my rooms. He had no right, no goddamn right."

King Regis was the king, and this was his Citadel. Every door, every bed…. They were all his.

"Iggy… today sucked. Please, please just bring me home."

Home. Home was where they could draw the curtains shut and make love to one another wherever they pleased. It was their sanctuary, where Noctis would play videogames curled up next to Ignis as he read through his email. It was safety, it was where the doors were locked and no one would dare come in.

"If you leave… your father may follow. I do not want to cause more damage; he was frightfully angry."

"He won't hurt you, Ignis. I swear it." The conviction burned into his words made Ignis almost fearful for a moment on what Noctis would do if his father did in fact do something. The passion, raw and burning, was enough for Ignis to stop himself from asking why. Why would King Regis spare him?

Ignis had looked to the King like a father-figure, especially after the Crown had taken him after his parents' death. He had been so young, needing a father. He had needed a mother, too, but both he and Noctis were missing that part of them.

It was silly to think and made their relationship sound even worse than just a Chamberlain and his Prince, but Ignis thought back to the times when they were young and had taken the place of their respective mothers. Where a mother would tuck their child into bed, that was what Ignis would do. Where a mother would kiss away the pain of a burned finger, that was what Noctis would do. They had grown together, lived together, learned together… it was fate that they would fall in love together, too.

And King Regis had been there, watching over their shoulders.

Ignis knew he would never be as important to the King as Noctis was—he didn't want it, and didn't need it. Noctis needed all of the care and attention the King had in him. But sometimes, just sometimes, it was hard to hide that he did want to please the man who had taken him in.

The man who had given him Noctis…. And could so easily take him away.

"I hope you are right," Ignis whispered. "Let's return home; I have a potion that will help heal your side. Though… if you prefer to stay here, it may be in our best interests."

Noctis shook his head and pulled up his robe, accepting Ignis's help to stand. "Lemme just put on my clothes. Then we can go. I just… don't make me stay here with him. I can't."

Ignis nodded his head. "It may be best if you drive; it seems I may have lost my spectacles."

Noctis swallowed. "I'll get you a new pair."

"Did you step on them?"

Noctis shook his head. "I just… don't make me come back here, Iggy. Please. I just want to go home."

Ignis nodded his head. "Of course, Noct. Anything."

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	4. Chapter 4

Author Notes: This chapter is a little more of world-building. I'm trying to keep the chapters rather short, rather than the long and rambling ones I usually put out. I'm trying to think of a way to do this naturally, so please just let me figure it out as I go!

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Ignis slipped his arms around Noctis's body, pulling him close. When they had gotten back to Ignis's apartment the two had fallen straight into bed. Noctis had been withdrawn, curling himself into a small ball in the center of the bed, but as always Ignis allowed himself to fan around the other. It would have been an uncomfortable feeling for some, but for them it was normal and natural.

They had always slept that way, curled against one another.

Ignis slipped his hand through Noct's locks, cherishing the feel of the soft black between his fingers. It was like touching spun silk, and Ignis couldn't help but run his fingers from roots to tips.

It was a comfort that held no words, though he had tried once to explain it to Gladio. Falling in love, no matter how much it would infuriate the advisors and call into doubt Noctis's future marriage, was something that didn't need words. At least, not in the way some typically thought of romance.

He had hoped Gladio would understand. Gladio, whose love for sappy romance novels that gave Ignis a toothache, had only been able to arch an eyebrow and mutter, "Wow. Lame."

Ignis watched Noctis breathe, at the slow rise and fall of his belly. When he twisted more into a ball Ignis caught sight of the ghastly, unseemly scar across his lover's back. He was thankful that the bruising and swelling had faded from the potion he had stashed under the sink, but also that he had not been too injured in the first place. He slipped his hand from Noctis's hair down his back, letting his fingers run over the damaged skin. He felt something inside of him pull at him as he traced the tree trunk scars, and watched with rapt fascination as his fingers gently glowed with a pale, purple light.

Whatever it was, it brought some comfort to Noct. The man's back relaxed and he seemed to unravel from the pain that had contorted him into such an uncomfortable position.

The brunette pulled away his hand as the light faded. He pressed it against his forehead, closing his eyes.

Ignis had looked into the magic, and through the books he had read he had been led in circles upon circles. There wasn't a logical reason at first as to why he was talented in the arts of the Crystal; he had become attuned with it young, and had always used it to care for Noctis.

Yet he remembered with the clarity of a bell a story that Regis had told him and Noctis when they were little boys. It had been a bedtime story, one meant to make them think, but Ignis… Ignis was certain it hadn't been meant for this.

The story had been of a daemon hidden upon a hill, who stole little boys and girls away from their parents. Children who would wander onto the hill were lost, until a brave prince and princess fought it with swords and magic. However, the prince was grievously injured when he slew the daemon and was only saved by the magic of the princess's purple light.

Ignis never dared to show King Regis or Noctis the light in his palms that he had learned to wield after the Marilith attack. It had come one night, curled up against Noctis's side. The boy had been stuck in a nightmare and Ignis would have been willing to give anything, anything, to make his pain go away. The light had twisted and pulsed its way from his fingers and toward Noctis, the lines of pain on his forehead disappearing.

Ignis knew he should have said something, but…

He had searched into his family history, comforted by the fact that somewhere in the Fourth Lucian dynasty a Lucian princess had married into mother's line. There were other rumors, rumors that the Chosen King would have a consort who would be able to use the magic of the Lucian Kings…

Ignis had nightmares for weeks between learning of the rumors of old and his mother's lineage. The thought that Noctis would be the King of Kings, the King of Light… it was something that kept him awake until his body physically couldn't continue on.

Ignis leaned forward and rested his lips on Noct's shoulder, revelling in the feeling of his lover adjusting himself in comfort, rather than pain.

"Iggy?" Noct whispered, voice cracking.

"Hm?" Ignis hoped that the magic hadn't woken him. lt was still something he preferred not having to explain. Ignis was not sure what had happened to those born of somewhat noble birth who were given some connection to the Crystal. And, well…

Noctis would think it were about the story, about the long-told prophecy of the King of Kings. The last thing Noctis needed was the weight of that near his already weary shoulders.

"Can you…" Noctis trained off, but Ignis knew what Noctis wanted.

"Of course." He kissed Noctis's shoulder again before scooting himself up into a sitting position, thankful that they had opted to return to Ignis's apartment. The backboard gave him at least a little bit of support as he lifted Noct's head onto his lap. "Just close your eyes and rest, Noctis. Whatever will be will be."

"Whatever will be will be," Noctis whispered, and Ignis could hear something inside his lover's voice. It was something that stirred up a fear, a sinking feeling in his gut. It spoke of weariness and pain and time, and Ignis did not like it. With Noctis, anything was possible. With Noctis, Ignis felt like he could move mountains. Even if King Regis was furious, they would meet whatever battle he laid before them head-on.

It was their motto, their promise.

"Sleep, love," Ignis ran his hand across Noctis's brow, though he hesitated when he felt the wetness on Noct's cheek. He knew his lover wouldn't want to talk about whatever was bothering him—had he wanted to, Ignis was sure Noctis would have said something. It was the only way they were able to work together, to always understand one another.

Openness.

Commitment.

Honesty.

Even if it took Noctis a while, he knew that when his lover was ready he would open up.

"Iggy… I love you."

Ignis smiled in the darkness. "And I, you. Sleep, for the dawn will bring clarity."

Noctis made an uncomfortable noise, something between a hiss and a groan, but Ignis only resumed the gentle caress of his fingers across Noct's cheekbones and dimples.

Ignis could worry in the morning.

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	5. Chapter 5

"Why won't you let me touch you?"

Noctis looked down at his hands and then back to Ignis, who peered back at him with those green eyes. He loved those eyes, the brightness… the intensity behind his gaze. There had always been something about Ignis's eyes that made Noctis feel like he was cradled in the sweet embrace of something better.

How long had he loved those eyes?

How did he never _notice_ those eyes?

"Iggy, it's nothing. It's just been a shitty week."

Noctis didn't want to say it. He didn't want to have that feeling of disgust that he fought down every time Ignis put his hands on him. This was still Ignis, his Ignis, and yet now that he knew…. Noctis couldn't forget.

The curve of Ignis's nose, the little bump that Noctis fell in love with again every time he kissed the bridge of the other man's nose. The flecks of hazel in his green eyes, the warm blues and browns like leaves and bark and the hints of the skyline above the gnarled branches. In the quirk of Ignis's lips, in the cupid's bow, in the way his hair curled around his ears, in his smile in his frown in his hands in his—

Noctis clenched his jaw, hearing his teeth grind against one another.

His father…

How naive had he been never to notice Ignis's similarities? Was he just so needy, desperate for a friend, for a lover, that he took what was before him and ignored it all? All he had wanted was Ignis his entire life; in those days where he had been angry and afraid, Ignis never once abandoned him. Even in the darkest moments… Ignis was always there, beside him.

Would he stay if he knew? Would Ignis still want to put his hands on him? Would he want to lie next to Noctis and watch the moon through the curtains? Would he want anything to do with Noctis at all?

Or would he hate himself like Noctis hated his fucking father, how inside he hated himself because this was wrong, wasn't it? This was so fucking wrong and twisted but nothing about Ignis repulsed him and that in itself was repulsive, wasn't it? Right was wrong and wrong was right, wasn't it?

"Ignis, do you love me?"

The chasm widened. How was it possible for them to be sitting on Ignis's bed, their knees nearly touching, and yet it felt like there was an ocean between them?

"Why would you ask such a question, Noct? Of course I do." Ignis reached out to take his hand. He could feel the callouses against his own and for a moment, Noctis wanted to just smile and turn to kiss Ignis like they had before. In their apartment they were safe, wasn't that what Ignis always said?

He could do it, too. Noctis could keep his father from ever mentioning anything; the number of messages the man had sent to him over the last week had cemented that point in Noctis's mind. If his father could keep silent, then… no one else ever needed to know. It could be his secret, his own hidden shame. There was no reason it would need to affect Ignis…

"Whatever will be, will be."

The words stung like a slap to the face, but Noctis held his resolve.

Ignis knew him better than he knew himself, and Noctis had to shake off the terrifying thought that there was a reason for that because they shared half of themselves—

"Iggy, my dad said something."

Ignis motioned for him to continue with the slightest, hesitant nod. "I assumed as much. He's the only person who can send you into such a state." Ignis's hand was soothing, rubbing circles into his lifelines. "I know the precarious relationship you and your father have."

"Has he… has he tried to talk to you?" Noctis had avoided going to the Citadel in the days after his father's birthday gala, but the constant phone calls that went ignored, the texts, even the official letter Noctis had burned using his magic with sickening satisfaction—how long would his father allow him his freedom before he pulled the noose around his neck.

"A few times, though it only pertained to a diplomatic issue in the Leide region. Nothing to worry yourself about—"

The words should have been a comfort, but something bubbled inside of Noctis and he pulled away his hand from Ignis's touch.

"Noct—" Ignis began, but Noctis shook his head.

"Ignis… you would have been a better King than me." Truth, like Ignis's eyes. How had he lived for so long without ever putting the pieces together? How had he never noticed that the eyes that he looked into every night were the same ones of the man he had called his father? This was all so fucked up. "The Crystal was wrong."

Ignis was always better than him with the politics, with the maneuvering, with the strategy. He was physically stronger than Noctis could ever be, especially with his back and his knees. Ignis didn't wake in the middle of the night screaming when the nightmares squirmed their way into his subconscious like Daemons in the night.

"He's always… he always had you to listen to him…. To learn from him."

"Noct, what are you talking about—"

His voice scratched his throat. "I…I guess I never thought about it before. Why he wanted you to learn… why he wanted his son to become like him."

Noctis turned to Ignis, watching the confusion cloud his face. "W—wha—"

"He always looked at you like a son. I just… we never noticed… were we the only ones who didn't know?"

Noctis reached out to trace his fingers across Ignis's nose, the bump that he always loved, to the corner of Ignis's left eye. "I'm sorry. I took it from you, I took that from you—"

"Noctis, you aren't making any sense—"

"But aren't I, Iggy? You've never wondered why he took you in? Why… why he made you my advisor? You were always better, you should have been King. You're his first—"

Ignis jumped from Noctis's hands as though his touch burned. "No."

The dawning horror slipping across Ignis's face made the bile at the back of Noctis's throat burn. He couldn't control the urge to vomit then, leaning over the side of the bed, clutching at his stomach. This wasn't how any of it was supposed to go, and the tears burned the back of his eyes and bit at his cheeks when no hand came to his back. He was supposed to be the strong one, he had time to process it all and decided that it didn't fucking _matter_ because Ignis was Ignis and Ignis was _everything_.

"Ignis, please. I don't care, it doesn't matter—he doesn't matter," Noctis swore as Ignis stumbled backward toward the bathroom. But it was a lie, because Noctis hadn't let Ignis touch him in days and this was his fault, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

"I love you—"

Noctis couldn't stop Ignis from throwing the door to the bathroom closed, just as he couldn't stop himself from falling before it like a man would prostrate himself in front of his _King_. He tried not to scream, tried not to sob, instead only resting his head on the door as he listened to the sound of glass breaking on the other side.

"Whatever will be, will be," Noctis repeated to himself, voice a broken whisper on cold wood. "Whatever will be, will be."


	6. Chapter 6

Noctis had somehow managed to fall asleep against the bathroom door, though how he had managed to end up in his bed when he woke was an absolute mystery. His face was swollen, eyes crusted from his dried tears, and it felt like his head was filled with cotton. He could feel the space next to him, the chasm of empty bed and blankets, a pillow untouched. _Oh_.

Ignis… always caring for him, even when it was in the other man's best interest to pull away.

Noctis's mess from earlier was gone, already scrubbed clean. There was a clinical edge to the spot on the carpet, one that Noctis remembered as the antiseptic smell of rug cleaner and panic. No doubt Ignis had done it without so much as thinking; it was something Noctis knew Ignis did whenever something was bothering him. He had done it since they were kids; whenever something would happen or Ignis was agitated, the brunet would scrub until his fingers were raw and open.

He hadn't done it in such a long time, but Noctis could remember finding Ignis when he was fifteen, sitting on the floor in his bedroom with a brush and cleaner, scrubbing at a spot on the floor that Noctis couldn't see. There was ink smudged across his cheek, and Noctis had wiped it away with the back of his black shirt, laughing at Ignis's scandalized and panicked response of, "Highness."

It had been a little funny then, and Noctis only thought of it as a cute quirk of his cute advisor…

Noctis remembered the way Ignis's face felt against the back of his hand, how much he wanted to lean forward and kiss him. The jumble of hormones and loneliness coupled with how warm and real Ignis was… It was all he wanted. It was all he needed.

Now his bed was cold and Ignis wasn't there, but Noctis…. Somewhere inside Noctis, he knew exactly where Ignis would have gone.

The note on the table was enough to confirm his suspicions, and Noctis could barely swallow back the urge to vomit again as he looked over it a second, then third, time.

No. Ignis wouldn't.

He couldn't.

 _Noctis,_

 _I am going to speak with your father. I believe it best if you—_

Noctis didn't read any further, his hands unable to hold the paper steady enough for him to continue. The magic inside of him pulled and the paper was no longer paper, but instead ash fluttering down like scattering memories.

He was quick to throw his clothes on and called Gladio—there was no way he was going to be able to drive when Ignis had the car, and it would have taken too long otherwise.

It didn't take more than five minutes for Gladio to pull up on his bike, and Noctis grabbed the helmet before the pavement could cool from where Gladio had burned rubber.

"Just go—the Citadel."

"You said Ignis was in trouble?" Gladio asked, and all Noctis could do was throw his leg over the bike and buck into Gladio's back, grabbing fistfuls of leather jacket.

"Y—yeah," Noctis grit his teeth as Gladio kicked off.

Gladio tried to pry it out of him, but Noctis couldn't formulate words. He was sure that the two of them were going way over the speed limit, the streets zipping out of focus. He could hear his heart beating inside his chest at an uncomfortable rhythm that was only accentuated with every bump and turn.

"Hey, we'll get there, just calm down."

But Noctis didn't want to calm down. How long had Ignis been in the Citadel? How long had Noctis been on the bed, sleeping away the hours?

And what would his Father do to Ignis? His father… their father…

How fucked up all of this was. Noctis had never been granted the love he wanted from his father, who was always too busy ruling the Kingdom and slowly killing himself at the Wall. Even then, Noctis had him.

Yet, here Ignis was—denied everything. Denied a father. Denied a mother. Denied his birthright and his future legacy. Denied a brother.

Denied a lover.

How could they have ended up like this, in a twisted web of his father's own creation? Why did he have to tell Noctis? Why couldn't he just let them have each other when they had nothing else?

"He won't hurt him…. He won't hurt him." It was a mantra…. Or a prayer to the unanswering Gods of Eos, because this was Ignis…. And Noctis needed Ignis to be okay. He needed his father to not do anything…

He needed Ignis.

Thankfully, Gladio did not ask any more questions. It was a blessing because Noctis was pretty sure he would have puked down Gladio's back and that would have just been a mess. He had to close his eyes tight and focus on what he would do, what he would say, when he arrived at the Citadel. Were there words to express what was going through his head? Was there a way he could stop what had no doubt already transpired….

How long was he asleep? How long did Ignis grind his brush into the stain before giving up, before leaving?

When they arrived, Noctis didn't even thank Gladio—he could do it later. He could do it when he knew where Ignis was, when he knew that he hadn't done what he had written, what he had promised…. What he had seen, before the paper was on fire and falling down across the carpet like gray snow.

The Citadel was silent. The only thing Noctis could hear was his shoes against the marble stone below, the humming of the elevators, and his own breaths. No one stopped him; in fact, it seemed as though the entire Citadel was empty, that all life had been breathed out. After having spent his entire childhood traversing the halls, hand clutched in Ignis's as they ran as far as their little legs could carry them, this silence…

It was deafening.

It was midday; there should have been someone there, someone to stop him. Yet fifteen floors and nothing. A dozen hallways, nothing. Not even the guards at the throne room doors.

For one terrifyingly beautiful moment Noctis thought this… this was a nightmare, and he would wake up in Ignis's apartment back before his father's Gala. They would be entwined in each other's arms, their legs locked, their chests pushed against each other. Ignis would brush his lips over Noctis's shoulder and Noctis would laugh.

But then he pushed the doors open.

It was the smell that hit him first, hot and thick like metal. Next was the red splashed across the black and gold, a marbling of gore across the stone. It was the stones he had played hopscotch across and where Ignis had picked him up when he fell, his hands and knees cut and bruised.

Noctis looked to his father standing above, his hand raised with palm distended.

"What did you do? What did you _**do**_?"

Ignis looked so small on the ground, the blood seeping around him and saturating the marble like a sacrifice.

The blood of Kings glittered in an effervescent purple glow.

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	7. Chapter 7

"Ignis... Please, listen to reason."

Ignis looked up at the man who had taught him as a small child how to count the stars. It had been one of the few memories Ignis had of King Regis, of the man who had taken him in. He had given Ignis a roof over his head, clean sheets to sleep in, warm food and... He had given him Noctis. It had been his only desire, since the tender age of five, to be with Noctis. They had been inseparable, a feeling that only increased the older they had grown.

Ignis could remember the soft sheets against his skin as he curled next to Noctis...

Noctis. Noctis. Always Noctis. It would always be for Noctis.

Ignis looked down at his shaking hands, the steel daggers biting into his palm. He would do this for Noctis.

"There is nothing you could say that would change my decision. Whatever will be, will be. I have accepted my burden."

Now it is time to accept yours. Ignis wanted to say this, to yell it at the man above him on his throne of blood and bone and bastard babies. But he bit his tongue, kept his thoughts hidden inside. There was enough of the story told across the shallow grooves of his face and the sickly tinge that shined through his skin. He wanted the man to see it, to feel it inside of him. Could he see Ignis as he was now? Could he see what this had done? What he had done?

He wanted this moment to eat the man open.

How... how could he. How dare he?

"Please, Ignis—"

Ignis shook his head. "No. I refuse you, I refuse this. I do not want it. I do not want you."

Ignis knew how words had hit home when the man shrunk back as though he had taken a slap to the face. The pain raced across his skin with the flinch, and Ignis hoped that he would remember it for the rest of his life. He hoped that the man who had done this to him, had done this to Noctis, would remember the way it felt to be denied.

"But you are my so—"

Ignis pulled his hand out and through the ether, calling upon the magic he had always had access to. The burning fire in his palm felt like a tickle against his skin. "I am your nothing. Your seed may have made me, but your son I am **not**." He held it there in the palm of his hand, held it out for the man who had sired him to see that fire—magical flame, magical burning, magical pain. "It is Noctis's. This is Noctis's magic, and I draw it from him—"

"You draw it from the Crystal just as he does. Just as I do. Just my father before me, and his father before him. It is Lucis Caelum magic."

"No. No it not."

Ignis felt the sweat bead across his forehead the longer he held the magic. The tickle was beginning to burn and he could tell the Regis had noticed as well.

The soft purple glow emanated from the center of the flames and Ignis stared down at it. It was so beautiful, like the glow of the Crystal...

He had always had it. It had always been there, lurking inside of him. He simply hadn't understood.

"Ignis, please, put it out. There's no reason to be hasty—"

Ignis choked out a laugh as he closed his fist, feeling the fire disappear. "No reason to be hasty? No reason to be hasty?" His sharp voice rose higher and higher through the Throne Room, echoing through the chamber. "You... you..."

He should have said nothing, for this was still his King, but... it was also his blood. It was his abandonment.

It was Noctis's broken sobs against the door, the sick on the floor... how he refused to allow Ignis to touch him. He was nothing but a worthless bastard, a little boy so unloved that his flesh and allowed him to twist and break the only thing on Eos he had cared for. He had done that, Ignis realized with a clarity that made his ears ring. Regis had done that to Noctis.

All Ignis wanted to do was to make the man before him feel just as Ignis did as he picked up Noctis after he had cried himself to sleep. Did Regis know the rings around Noctis's eyes, the way his fingers pulled for comfort in a world of bleakness? Did he know that for all of those long years Ignis had stayed with Noctis he had fallen more and more in love with everything he did and everything he was? Did he know what this had done to Noctis?

Did he even care?

"You care so little for your own son that you would let a bastard fall in love with him? You would let me destroy him?"

"I never thought... I never noticed that you two were so... so..."

"Close?" Ignis spit his words like bile. "Did you notice nothing? You ignored him all his childhood. All he wanted was you, was his father, and you never gave him that. And so... we filled... we filled in the spaces ourselves."

It was the most honest thing Ignis had ever said, the most open thing he had never admitted to before that moment. His love for Noctis... two boys so young and alone, forced to cling to one another in the childish hope that having another person next to them in the night would stop the nightmares. They had been so lonely, so afraid, and they had taken comfort in one another. Their relationship, one that Regis had thought would be that of brothers, had morphed and changed.

And Ignis never wanted anything more than he wanted Noctis.

The sorrow was written across Regis's face and Ignis had to look away. His eyes burned and he blinked back the tears.

"All my life... it was just him and I. And I was thankful. I was thankful to you, because you had given me Noctis. I... I didn't... I didn't know."

How was he supposed to have known? Yet in the same moment, how had he looked into the mirror every day and never have noticed that his eyes were the same shade, how their noses held the same sharp bump? How had he never seen it?

All Ignis had ever wanted was a family; he had yearned for it in a way that any child orphaned by the daemons would feel. Being with Noctis, being surrounded by the other man... that had been his saving grace. It had been his salvation from the loneliness, from the pain and desperation. And now, now it was the one thing he wished he could cast off like a dirty shirt. He wanted to burn it out of him, wanted to clean the taint of the blood in his veins. Family meant nothing. Blood meant nothing.

"Please, Ignis. Forgive me."

Ignis closed his eyes and stared down at the marbled floor. He could remember a hundred scraped knees and tears against the ground, a thousand smiles, a million words spoken like a hush across a loud room. Two thousand years of life... two thousand years of bearing Lucian Kings and Lucian bastards. That was what this marble represented. It stood as the chalice, and Ignis wanted to fill it.

Sharp like the pain of the fire, the thought came to him unbidden.

Ignis summoned his dagger, lifting the blade to the light.

It was something in the stories of old; a tradition that had dated back to the beginning of the Lucian line. There had always been bastards born to the King. Ignis was not the first, and no doubt he would not be the last. The line of Succession could not be challenged. The line of Succession was for Noctis. It was Noctis's birthright.

And if he made the offering, if he gave the Crystal what it wanted... maybe he would be free.

Ignis did not want the crown, not the way Noctis thought he did. He was willing to do anything to let Noct know that.

How could Noctis think that he would have been a better king? Had Noctis never realized how hard Ignis had worked to see to that, to make Noctis better than his father? Did he think that Ignis would have wasted his time on Noctis had he not believed with everything in him that he would be a true King... a King worthy of the crown?

Those words had bounced in Ignis's head. Noctis had always been so afraid that he wasn't good enough, that he could never truly please his (their... by the Gods, their...) father.

Why couldn't Noctis see what Ignis saw? Why could he never understand that to Ignis, Noctis was every moonlit night and whisper of sun across the dewy grass?

Ignis would have cut off his own head for Noctis to understand, for Noctis to believe him.

But the Crystal did not want his head, though it would happily take its pound of flesh.

He could hear Regis yelling, could see the man reaching out to him, but Ignis's mind was lost to the sensation of his dagger digging into the flesh of his stomach. It was warm and heady.

A pound of flesh. A sacrifice.

Any maybe, just maybe... The Crystal would take the magic back.

Ignis did not want the blood of kings.

All he wanted was Noctis.

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	8. Chapter 8

"Come near him and I'll kill you."

Regis stood at the door of the Citadel infirmary, staring down at his sons. Noctis had crawled into the bed, his body curled around Ignis as though he could use his own skin to cover the other from harm. And his firstborn, the one that looked like his mother but had his eyes—

Was it fair to call Ignis his after what had happened? Was it fair to anyone for him to continue to cling to the vestiges of what faraway dreams he had before... before he knew what he had caused? What he had done?

Ignis looked so small against the sterile white sheets, his face a pale crescent pressed against Noctis. The soft movement of his chest was the only thing that brought any kind of comfort to Regis; it was moving. Barely so, yes, but enough for Regis to know that he was still alive. It was enough for him to know that he hadn't killed him, hadn't destroyed two lives by his own foolish deeds.

Nearly two decades after her death, Aulea was still right. Perhaps her Oracle blood had been true and the Gods had granted her sight.

"Noctis, please," Regis began, but Noctis only reached up to stroke a hand through Ignis's hair. There was no fluff to it as it usually did; instead it rested limply against his skull, plastered to his sweat-slicked forehead.

"No. You've done enough. He could have died. You could have killed him."

Regis wanted to deny it, to tell Noctis that he had not raised the blade to Ignis's skin. He had not been the one to dig into supple, pale flesh. But what he had done was just as bad, if not worse. He had been the cause of the blood spread out like an offering to the Crystal upon the Throne Room's marble. It was as if he had taken the knife and ripped into Ignis. There was no difference in whose hand had done the deed, it was only that it was done.

So he said nothing, instead only standing in the shadow of the door and his own mistakes and misery.

"Noctis. The Crystal may have taken his magic."

Noctis scoffed. "Does it matter?"

It was Ignis's blood, his lineage, his magic. And while Noctis did not understand the way the magic that coursed through their veins, Regis did.

"He could suffer greatly. It's as though he cut off a limb—"

"No, he just carved out his fucking kidney!" Noctis spit, face contorting into a snarl. "So don't tell me about it being like he cut off his arm. He cut out his kidney. Get out. I hate you. I **hate** you. Isn't this enough? Haven't you done enough?"

Noctis's fingers shook against Ignis's hairline as Ignis whimpered in his sleep. Regis tried to go towards the bed only to see the tell-tale shimmer of blue erupt in Noctis's empty hand.

He wouldn't dare—

Except he had. And Regis could see the fearlessness, like a wild cat protecting an injured mate. Teeth bared, blood dripping from his jowls, consumed by his own fury. Noctis would go for his throat if he bared it.

No matter how much he loved his son—his sons— he was not welcome there. He would never be welcome again, that much he knew. What he had done as a foolish and capricious young man, wild and filled with self-justifying anger, had finally done what his Queen had prophesied between her trembling thighs. Ignis had always been his downfall. It was always meant to be.

"I will leave, Noctis, but only after you let me see—"

"See what? If he got it all?" Noctis didn't raise his dagger (no, Regis realized with a jolt through his heart, it was Ignis's dagger) to him, but it quivered in his grip nonetheless. "Want to try and finish the job?"

"Noctis, I love him—"

"If you loved him so much why did you never tell him?"

It had been something that had always weighed on his mind, but the chain of Succession the promise of the throne, the fear of a bastard's life only cut short by a bastard's death. He had wanted more for Ignis. He had wanted so much more. And after Aulea's last gasping breath, the daemons ripping apart Arian, the Crystal claiming Noctis as the One True King... all he wanted was peace. He wanted that one moment of solace where he could keep one thing safe. He could hold on to Ignis as he could not hold on to Noctis.

And Ignis could hold on to Noctis for him. Maybe, just maybe, the Gods would have been kind. Maybe they would have allowed Ignis to protect Noctis in a way only he could.

Regis again said nothing for a long moment before ever so slowly making his way forward. Inch by inch, step by step, until he was close enough to reach out and brush his fingers across Ignis's wet fringe.

Yet he didn't. So close and yet—

"The magic—"

Noctis shook his head. "I don't care."

Regis could tell that he truly did not care. It did not matter if Ignis still held the magic of the Crystal within him, at least not to Noctis. It did not matter to Noctis, because Ignis was still alive and wasn't that the most important thing? Wasn't that what Regis should have been overjoyed for?

There was the guilt again, because Noctis nor Ignis understood. They could never understand, and it was now pointless to waste breath to explain. He could feel it in the way Ignis moved, in the way his eyelids fluttered, in how his brow pulled at his temples.

Had he had any of his own innate magic, had be been able to keep even a modicum of it—

It felt like the moment the Crystal had whispered its dark promise to Regis all those years before. It was the death of hope, the death of chance, the death of a future. It was Noctis bleeding out as a sacrificial lamb to the Gods. Any hope that he had maintained over the years of pain, of the Wall pulling his life-force from him, was dashed against the blood-spattered marble.

It was gone. Drowned in Noctis's blue eyes.

The only thing that could have saved Noctis, the only magic that could have given mercy, was gone.

Regis curled his fingers and looked down one last time at Ignis.

"Forgive me."

He wasn't sure who he was speaking to. Was it the son he had never claimed as his own? Or was it the son the Crystal would one day take to purge the Scourge?

Regis wished he could feel the alluring purple magic within Ignis's skin, but there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

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	9. Chapter 9

"Noctis, please. You're worrying a hole in the carpet. Just sit. Be still. _Please_."

Noctis looked down to Ignis, who took a small but labored breath as he pushed himself against the backboard. He had been released only a few weeks ago from the hospital, but Noctis was hesitant on allowing a Ignis to move anywhere that was further than the toilet. Going into the kitchen to try and make his own supper was absolutely and positively out of the question. It didn't matter if Noctis had to call Gladio to help him tie the other man down; there was absolutely no way that he was moving after his training accident.

Training accident. Noctis resisted the urge to snort. Just a little accident in the Throne Room, just a missing kidney, just a broken prince and his broken Chamberlain.

Noctis wondered if he wore the pain as fresh across his face as Ignis wore his. Then again, he hadn't been the one to carve out a sacrifice for the gods in hopes to kill the magic inside of him.

Noctis sat himself on the edge of the bed, letting his fingers skitter out to gently reach for Ignis's hand. It was delicate, like it was the first time their fingers swept against one another. For others it would have been barely even a touch, but for a Noctis it was salvation and a saving grace.

"You… you needn't worry, Noct. Everything will be fine. And I assure you, I am more than capable of making us supper. I am no wilting flower. The doctor said I should be as good as new in a matter of weeks."

But there was no way to grow back organs, that much Noctis knew. Even shoving potions and elixirs did nothing to helpーhe had tried on more than one occasion, but nothing had come of it. What was the purpose of having magic if it couldn't be used?

"Iggy... can't you just let me take care of you?"

Ignis sighed and knocked his knuckles against Noctis's. "It's my job to care for you. It always has been."

It was amazing that Noctis didn't flinch at the words. It had always been his duty, hadn't it?

But Noctis pushed back the thoughts. "Well, maybe. Yeah. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have someone to take care of you when you need it."

"Noctis, I'm not sure how many more Cup Noodles I can handle." Ignis let his fingers slowly curl around Noctis's, and he tried to pretend that he could not feel the tremor in Ignis's hand. "Unlike you, my diet requires a hearty amount of vegetables."

Noctis made a face. "Oh, ew, Iggy. I'm not making you eat that junk—"

"But I need that so-called junk."

Noctis only sighed in response. "Yeah... I guess so. If you think you can do it..."

"I can, I assure you." A small pull to his lips—Noctis was never sure if it were a frown or a smile—made Noctis pause, only to then shrug his shoulders. He knew Ignis, the stubborn Chamberlain he was, and knew better than to stop him.

It was like that for several weeks after: Noctis would hover in the kitchen as Ignis slowly moved through their apartment, relearning how to reach the top shelves and stretch muscles that Noctis could only imagine ached in ways he would never understand. With every week Ignis grew stronger, though Noctis knew that there was something missing...

"It won't be coming back."

They were curled up next to one another in bed, the two inches between them more like a gaping chasm. Noctis wanted to kiss him, wanted to lay his head against Ignis's chest and listen to his heart beat against his ear. He wanted to kiss him the way that had before all of this, before his father (not their father, only his father) had come in with the glowing purple Crystal and the truth.

Noctis turned on the mattress to face Ignis. Ignis was laying straight on his back, hands folded on his stomach. Wanting to look at Ignis, he pushed himself onto his elbows and rested his head on his hand. "You... you sure?"

Ignis's green eyes, dark from the lack of light, looked like inky black holes in the hint of moonlight. "It was what I wanted, Noct."

It was what Ignis wanted... wanted to give up part of himself to the Crystal to break the magic, to promise weakness in the exchange of freedom.

"I didn't want this to happen."

"Hush, Noct." To anyone else it would have sounded like a scolding, but Noctis knew Ignis and how words, know the delicate taper of his voice. "Whatever will be will be."

"I..."

Ignis turned to him then, breaching the chasm between them. He allowed his hand to rest against Noctis's skull and Noctis could have wept at the soft, pliant fingers running through his hair and down to his neck.

"Please do not hate me."

Noctis could see the fine lines under Ignis's eyes now that they were so close, almost like cracks in his perfectly composed mask. There was a hint of blue and purple under his lashes like bruise waiting to heal. These few weeks had been nothing but devastation upon devastation. Nothing would ever be the same, and yet Noctis knew that some things would never change.

"I could never hate you, Ignis. Never."

"And yet—"

"No. Iggy. Ignis. Listen to me." Noctis pulled himself closer to Ignis, his hand shaking as he reached out to cup Ignis's jaw. "Listen to me, okay?"

Ignis's mouth trembled. "I..."

"I will love you until the day I die. You got that, Ignis?" Noctis let his finger run against Ignis's lips, feeling the softness below his fingers. The last time they had kissed... how long had it been since he had felt the other half of him click into place? "Everything that happened... all of this... it doesn't change that." Noctis wanted to say it was stupid, wanted to tell Ignis that his father and their blood and magic didn't matter, but all Noctis could remember was how broken Ignis looked with his fingers filled with blood and pink meat.

"Noctis..."

"Can I kiss you?"

Ignis nodded his head so slightly that if not for the tilt of his head and the soft whisper of his name, Noctis would have missed it.

It felt like waking after a long sleep, the hazy way the colors melted into the darkness and the soft feeling of skin against skin reminded him of long ago times. He could remember the first time they touched like this, the flood of emotion and the way even the wind seemed to stop for just that moment. He had been sixteen and so in love, less than he was now because with Ignis love only became stronger with time.

That was the love he always wanted, always needed. That all-encompassing love that made his body ache and his blood boil. It was the love that only two broken boys who had been lost to duty and obligation of their father could dare to have.

Who would deny them this small comfort? Who had any right to tell them no, to take what little magic that Eos had that was not connected to the Crystal away like a thief in the night?

Ignis deepened their kiss, and Noctis did not stop him. Hands, touches, breath against breath and chest against chest. The sound of sheets and the staccato of sighs and gasps pinpricked by whispers of sweet nothings that meant everything. And inside their veins the blood of Kings meant only that they were alive. Though broken, though missing pieces that would never return, they were still there.

"Whatever will be will be."

It was more than a prayer or a hopeful dream. It was to Noctis the same as it was to Ignis.

In the morning, when Noctis was woken by the emergency ringtone only for calls from His father or the Crownsguard, he took a moment to look at Ignis before answering the phone. He wanted to memorize every inch of Ignis's skin. The way his chest rippled with every breath. The scar across his side, the pink skin still bright against his milky white skin. The way his hair flopped across the bridge of his nose. The slight overbite that pushed his top lip out just the slightest bit. The light brown lashes Noctis kissed just to watch flutter across green eyes.

Those eyes… though Noctis could see Regis in the color, he could only see Ignis in their depths.

"You should answer that, love."

Before doing so he kissed Ignis again, relishing in it for that one moment before answering his father's call.

"Noctis. Your father had requested you to come to the Citadel. There was a visitor to the Citadel this morning and… it would be best to explain more when you arrive."

"Is everything okay?"

Of course it wasn't okay. Cor would never call him if it was.

Noctis felt Ignis's hand against his as the other man sat up in bed next to him, the sheets pooling at his waist.

"I think you know the answer to that. There are talks… talks of a peace treaty. You can hear the rest from your father. I can send out a car to pick you up."

"No. I'll drive. I'll drive with Ignis."

There was a pause, then, "If you're sure."

Noctis leaned forward against Ignis's chest, allowing himself to fall into his comfort. Just a moment. Just one more moment.

"I… okay." Noctis sat still until the call dropped, arm frozen in place.

Ignis was the one who took the phone from his hand and tossed it to the other end of the bed. He gathered up Noctis the best he cohld, like he always did and always would.

"Whatever will be will be, Noctis." Ignis pressed his lips down against Noctis's crown of hair. "I promise. _Please_."

Noctis said nothing. He didn't need to.

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	10. Chapter 10

Ten years.

It had been ten years since Noctis stood within the Throne Room. The last time had been so long ago and yet he could remember that early summer morning clear as day. The feeling of the sun breaking through the windows still felt warm on his cheek. It would have been comical, if not for how serious it was... the sun.

Ignis had told him that the dawn and the sun had faded like a distant dream over the ten years; the only thing keeping Eos from dying was the warmth that occasionally cracked through the black scourge like the sun playing peekaboo through thick storm clouds.

The rest… the rest came from artificial light and prayers to Gods that did not listen.

Noctis's knee ached and his hand throbbed with every heartbeat. Yet the pain… the pain was excruciating, yes, but it wasn't as bad as the fear. He could feel it on him like a slick grease that made his stomach churn. His father had told him that day to walk tall… to walk tall.

What kind of request was that?

Noctis had pondered it the entire summer, tried to understand the hidden depth to his father's last words. Had he ever been a coward? Had he ever shown himself as unwilling to do what was needed?

Had he not been willing to go through with the sham of a marriage to appease the Empire? Had he not given and given and given? What else did he have to offer them, what more could they take? He had been born with the magic in his veins, the magic that would take more than it could ever give. Ignis had been right in giving the magic back to the Crystal. He has always been right.

Noctis closed his eyes and thought back to the time before… the time before he said goodbye to his father.

Blood. Blood washed across the floor, the smell of death permeating through the air. Ignis… his broken Ignis.

The magic had taken what it wanted, and now... now it would take its last sacrificial lamb.

They never had the time to heal, not completely. That night where they clung to one another, wishing for the sun to never rise, had been the beginning of the spiral down into the abyss. Had they known, had Noctis the foggiest of what would happen in the coming weeks-the fall of Insomnia, the Covenants, Altissia, Gralea… Noctis would have clung to Ignis in their bed for longer. He would have kissed harder. He would have remembered to tell Ignis a thousand times that he loved him. He would have told him that they could die and return and die again a thousand times and every time Noctis would find him.

Soulmates.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once...It was something he hadn't dared believe in, but he yearned for it like a man dying wished for just a moment more. Just one last goodbye, one last sunrise.

A sunrise he and Ignis would never get to see.

Noctis swallowed down the building fear as he slowly allowed his feet to carry him forward. He could hear the fighting outside, knew that Gladio, Prompto, and—Noctis's breath caught in his throat—Ignis, would be there. Though the walls of the Throne Room cradled him, he knew where his heart was. He knew that this duty, this sacrifice, would keep them safe.

It would keep _him_ safe.

Maybe in another life they would be born without the ties between their blood, but maybe not. It didn't matter in the end because it had always been Ignis and would always be Ignis. That was what a soul mate was, wasn't it? It didn't matter; none of it had mattered in the end.

His—no. _Their_ father… their father had been just a man, a man who had broken a vow to his Queen and sired a child with another. He had never forgiven himself and in life, Noctis had never forgiven him either. And in death...

Noctis was tired. He could feel it like the cold in his bones as we slowly made wis way forward and onto the dais. When he had been a little boy, he and Ignis would play on the steps in the Throne Room. The scuffs on the floor, the harried looks of the maids and councillors who were tasked with avoiding the Prince and his Chamberlain—his father staring down at them with a fond, sad smile.

Noctis closed his eyes as he slowly climbed towards the top, feeling something press against his head like a crown of thorns. He could almost hear the whisper of his father's voice against his ear, telling him a story he had loved to whisper to him and Ignis when the Throne Room had emptied and they would take a rare lunch in the gardens. Noctis would always find himself curled up next to Ignis, unable to keep his eyes open after playing and eating and enjoying the day. But he would listen to the story his father told him.

It was their story, the one thing the three of them had. It was something that not even the truth could destroy.

When he finally stood in front of the throne, Noctis slowly sunk down into the velvet. He closed his eyes again and could hear the whisper of his father's low tenor voice.

 _"Once... upon a time... there was a prince and his beloved who lived in a beautiful castle in a far away land. They were happy there, surrounded by the sun. But on a nearby hill a daemon hid, biding his time to steal the lives of all the children of the kingdom..."_

Noctis felt the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. "D—dad?" Noctis opened his eyes and saw him standing in his perfectly pressed suit and raiment, just as he had worn that summer day so long ago.

Regis did not look at him.

 _"But the young Prince and his beloved, with their swords and magic, fought against the daemon. It was a hard battle, blood and spells seeping into the grass, but they fought well. The daemon, unable to deny the light of the good Prince, was struck down..."_

Noctis could feel the air moving around him and he drove his father's sword into the dais, holding onto it with all of his strength. He could see his father's ghost, like a faded memory, in the corner of his eye and it _hurt._

Everything was red and pain and Gods—Noctis bit down on his tongue and pressed his fingers harder into the pommel of his father's sword to keep from screaming—

" _But the prince... the prince was felled by the daemon.._. Oh, Noctis."

Noctis could feel the blood dripping between his fingers as he pulled out the sword, hands shaking.

"Trust in me..." His mouth bled, his cheeks sore, his body on fire and yet... this was his destiny.

This would give Ignis the dawn.

"Please... dad. Trust in me." His father had never believed in him, had thought him a coward... but this was his last chance. This was his last moment.

Something brushed against his forehead—just like the kiss his father would lay against his head those days in the gardens. If he tried, Noctis wondered, would he be able to feel Ignis's heartbeat against his cheek?

"I have always trusted you, Noctis. Please, forgive me. I have failed you... I have always failed you."

The pain did not blossom like a rose, though the blood and bile that made its way up his throat splattered across the black and gold marble in a caricature of beauty. No, the pain was not beautiful at all. It was the sound of metal scraping against his spine and smashing into the velvet and wood behind him. It was the explosion of white as the ring shattered into dust. It was the igniting of every blood vessel and every nerve, begging for the end.

It was nothing but pain, nothing but agonizing pain.

And then... nothing—for there was never anything beautiful in death.

There was only beauty in life… a life Noctis had never been given.

It was done.

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	11. Chapter 11

Ignis felt like his soul left his body.

It wasn't the way the weapons clanked against metal as the Red Giant in front of him let out an earth-shattering roar. It wasn't in the sound of the explosion that rocked the whole of Insomnia. It wasn't in the blinding light that even a man who hadn't seen in ten years had on the edges of his right eye. He could sense just the slightest bit of the burning explosion of whiteness.

No. Not even that.

It was in the feeling deep inside of him, the part that had been with him for as long as he could remember. It was something that was settled inside of him in a way that was so comforting and familiar that Ignis was not sure if he had ever lived without it or if he could continue on knowing it was gone. It was the feeling that, even in the dark, there was light. There was beauty and good still in the world.

And in that moment… Ignis felt it snuffed out like the wick of long-burning candle. It had reached the end and the wax had encapsulated it, swallowing it whole.

Ignis could almost see it. Almost.

He could feel the heat of the morning sun beat against his cheek, the one so heavily scarred that he had felt nothing but whispers of memories touching it. The last thing that he had felt before the burning and agony of his skin peeling and boiling was Noctis. A chaste cupping of his cheek, a light kiss against his lips in Altissia.

They had tried their best to put the pieces of their shattered hearts back together. After the Citadel, after what had been shared by Regis…

Ignis had been broken in ways that now, even ten years after, still stung him. What had happened… it had taken from him a life that could have been so very different. He could have had a family, but more than that, now knowing the truth and knowing that the story Regis had told him so many years before about the King of Kings was for Noctis…

He would have tore apart the heavens and Eos for the Crystal to have Chosen him. He would have gladly have taken that burden from Noctis.

He would have given up their love, the all consuming passion that Ignis had clung to through ten years of unending darkness, if it meant that Noctis would be safe.

And yet he failed. He always failed.

The bastard son. The mistake. The unwanted. Unloved by all… except for Noctis.

It was amazing how, even in blindness, Ignis was able to make his way through the daemons screeching and flailing through their death throes. He could picture the way the Citadel looked in his mind, day after day of traversing its glorious halls of marble and gold. Ignis wondered, numbly, if the blood red velvet matched the Throne Room's floor the same shade it had the day he had cut himself open as an offering to the Crystal.

That story… he had cut himself open on Lucis Caelum steel hoping to prove something to Noctis, to prove that Noctis was worthy of his rightful place as King.

Now? Now Ignis would have ripped out his other kidney if it meant he could take it back.

This was his fault. This was all his fault.

When he managed to open the door to the Throne Room he could feel it in his bones, in his blood. And the smell of death permeated through the chamber.

His feet carried him forward and he was thankful, for the first time in his life, that he was blind. Yet when his fingers finally rested upon Noctis's head, felt the blood squelch under his boots and the steel against his palm… Ignis wished for more than his blindness, because in the shadows of his right eye he could see the purple glow.

He was as gentle as he could be as he pulled out the blade, dropping it to the side with a clang. Noctis dropped forward, but Ignis grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

The Throne… when Ignis and Noctis had been nothing but boys they had snuck into the Throne Room and sat together upon the Throne. Ignis could not quite remember why or how, but… they had fit so perfectly on the twining stone and velvet.

They still fit together now, decades later. Ignis was careful in lifting Noctis into his lap, trying to ignore the feeling of the leather of his Crownsguard jacket against the wet velvet. The sound made Ignis's stomach churn, but he bit back the bile as he wrapped his arms around Noctis. His hair, still smelling of ash, was soft against Ignis's nose.

And he cradled Noctis to him; his broken, beautiful Noctis.

"Noctis, love…" Ignis choked as he traced his fingers down Noctis's cheek. He reached into himself, to a place that he had not touched since the night before he found out about his blood, how he had rested his fingers against Noct's spine and called forth the glowing purple.

"Please, Noct… please."

Yet it did not come.

It would never come.

Ignis lifted his head and screamed towards the heavens, toward the crystal that glowed its mocking purple.

He screamed until his voice was hoarse, until the sounds of his sobbing left a constant ringing echo like the bells that once had rung to bring the Ascension of a new King.

There would never be a new King.

Noctis would never wear his crown. He would never become the King Ignis knew he could be. He would never get to prove that he was better than Regis, that he would rule like they always planned.

He would never laugh again. He would never smile that secretive little smile when he did something he knew he shouldn't have, but did anyway. He would never complain about beans or try to surreptitiously hide his vegetables in his napkins. He would never cry or joke around or fish for hours and hours without pause only to fall asleep when a fish actually took the bait.

Noctis would never kiss Ignis, never reach out to brush their noses against one another. He would never whisper promises against his shoulder blade in the darkness of the night. Never tell Ignis that he loved him. Never love, never touch, never breatheー

"Ignis…"

Ignis could hear someone calling his name, but he could not stop his shuddering sobs to listen. He didn't want to. He wanted to sit upon his father's throne of bone and blood and not just the bastard babies any longer. No: It had claimed its King, its beautiful Martyr King.

And Ignis had not stopped him.

Ignis wrapped his arms tighter around Noctis as he heard the voice again, the voice that called his name in a way that he had never heard before.

"Ignis… please…"

Ignis did not turn his head to Regis's voice.

"There was little I could do. The prophecy… it would take him. It would always have taken him. I have failed you both…"

Ignis's throat felt like sandpaper. "I coーI could have…"

"No, Ignis. His crown was never meant for you. His burden… it was for him alone."

Alone. Noctis had died alone, surrounded by nothing but darkness and death.

"I should… I should have been hereーwith him. I shoーI should have… I should have died with him." Ignis pulled his face away from Noctis's hair, resting his cheek against Noct's crown of hair. "Please, Regis. Pleaseーkill me. Please, _Father_ ー"

That word. It felt like ash on his tongue. Every moment of tears, every fear, every ounce of desperation and loneliness. It was everything he had ever felt for Regis, from the worship and love of a child to the respect of a young adult, to the rage and horror as a man.

"Please. Kill me. Let me be with him. Please, I begーI beg you. Let me _die_."

If they could not be together on Eos, then Ignis would gladly take the Beyond.

Ignis felt something rest against his other cheek. It was warm and wrinkled and yet it did not belong. It did not belong in this world.

"Do you remember the story I told you as a child?"

Ignis swallowed. "My… my magic. It's gone. It's goー" Tears dripped down his cheeks into Noctis's hair. "I can't save him. _Please_ … I can't…"

"You are my son. You have always been mine. From the moment I held you in my arms you have been mine. It is in your eyes, in the bump on your nose. It is in your quick wit and your anger. It is in how you love fiercely and without compunctionー"

Ignis snorted. "All I have felt is guilt. For years upon years. I have done nothing… nothing but give him sadness and death."

"He never thought that way. Not once." Regis paused for a moment. "He never regretted you. I have never regretted you. Not once. I swear that to you."

Ignis wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he lied… but there was something to his voice, to the quiet surety that Ignis had always wanted and desperately clung to.

"All I ever wanted was him…"

"I know. I am so sorry, Ignis… my son. You will always be my son."

Lips pressed against his forehead and Ignis felt something tugging at his chest. It was like his blood was thickening and bubbling under the surface and it made his gasp and curl his fingers into Noctis's shirt.

"I am… I am your son…"

"You are. The Blood of Kings runs through your veins. You know what you must do, Ignis…"

Ignis reached out to caress Noctis's cheek, feeling the bite of hair against his palms.

"And know that I will always love you."

Ignis forced his eye open and turned to where he hoped Regis could see his face. "I… thank you."

"One day, we'll meet again in the Beyond. But today is not that day."

Ignis turned his head back to Noctis, pressing circles against his jawline the same way he had so many years ago when they were tucked between sheets, side by side. His other hand made its way down to Noct's stomach and he pressed as hard as he could as he prayed for the touch of something he could not explain.

And like a story told to him as a child about a faraway castle with a prince and his beloved, about the blood that ran through his veins and through his heart to the Crystal, the pale hint of purple began to glow.

It was a little beacon of light more beautiful than the rays of dawn.

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	12. Chapter 12

In the Beyond, everything was just as he wanted it.

Regis looked out into a memory that he had watched more than once over the years; it was a beautiful spring afternoon, the wisteria tree weeping its beautiful pinks and blues and purples across from their picnic blanket. The gardens had always been a place of solace for Regis, and even now there was nothing but the comfort of the brush of wind and the two little boys sleeping next to one another.

They looked so peaceful and perfect, like the angels of lore. Regis reached out and let his fingers brush against Ignis's fringe, watching at how the little boy moved his head to nuzzle closer to Noctis.

Noctis... Noctis was still young enough that putting his thumb in his mouth was commonplace. Regis knew that it was bad for Noctis's teeth, but in the Beyond, in the memory of what had been and what would never truly be again, Regis only smiled and brushed his knuckles against his son's cheek. The little boy worried at his thumb a little more.

In this time, in this moment, Regis could allow himself the freedom to feel something other than the guilt and anguish. Watching them be as they once were, watching them breathe and smile and play as they had when they were little boys with none of the burdens that would one day come. Here, in the Beyond, little Noctis and little Ignis could sleep as long as they wanted. They could listen to his stories of kings and warriors of light, of advisors and shields and oracles who would one day bring Eos the wonder of the dawn.

They would listen to him, transfixed on the stories of worlds that were so alike their own and yet so different. Ignis's green eyes would go wide and Noctis would bury his face in his hands any time a moment of the story picked up pace or the tension became high. Regis could hear the pitter-patter of their hearts racing against their chests as his voice grew louder and louder until the daemon was defeated and the prince...

"What happened to him, papa?" Ignis asked, blinking lazily up through pale brown lashes.

Regis's heart seized in his chest as he looked down at the little boy. The Beyond... it truly was a blessing.

"Well, Ignis," Regis began as he reached out and ran his hand across the little boy's brow. "The Prince's beloved... he loved the prince more than anything. He would have given anything to save the prince, and the magic of the Crystal deemed him worthy."

Ignis blinked again.

"What I mean to say is that the Prince's beloved... he used the magic."

"Daddy... Did he save the prince?" It was Noctis, staring up through peerless blue eyes. He yawned and tried to stop his eyes from fluttering closed, but Regis knew that look. It would only be a matter of time before he was ushered into the soft embrace of sleep.

Regis smiled, soft and sad. "Yes, Noctis. The Prince was saved and—"

There was a sound, something that made Regis's voice catch in his throat. A voice, a voice he had not heard in a long, long time.

"—he and his beloved lived together in peace for a hundred years. They... they ruled with kindness and hope and their kingdom was prosperous and bountiful. There was no suffering."

Regis turned to look at the spot between the wisteria. Two young men stood side by side, their fingers gently brushing against one another. Noctis reached out and wrapped his fingers around Ignis's hand, slowly pulling the other man toward the picnic blanket.

Little Ignis barely spared the two men only a glance before resting his head on Noctis's shoulder, tucking themselves into each other as they always had and always would.

It... it was hard to look at them without feeling the need to cry.

"Did... did you?"

Noctis and Ignis sat themselves down next to their smaller counterparts. They never let go of their hands.

"Well... not a hundred. More like sixty."

Regis looked to Ignis, whose green eyes were bright and wet. "And... was it peaceful?"

Ignis smiled, just the slightest touch to his mouth. "More than I could have ever imagined."

"And you loved one another?"

Noctis lifted their hands, the glint of gold shining off of Ignis's finger. "Probably... probably not what you wanted to hear. But... yeah. We loved one another."

Regis swallowed. "No, Noctis. That is exactly what I wanted to hear."

Little Ignis made a sound as little Noctis accidentally kicked him, but the two little boys settled down again a moment later.

Noctis looked down at them, his lips pulled into something that Regis could not quite place. "And... are they happy?"

Regis nodded. "They are well-loved, here... here in the Beyond, I could give them what I never could give you. I wish... I wish I could have been a better father."

"No, dad... I wouldn't have changed anything."

Ignis looked at him and Regis understood that his Queen had always been right. Ignis would be his ruin. Yet from the ruins, Ignis had been his salvation—his rebirth in blood and fire and destruction. His kingdom, his bloodline... Ignis had torn it to pieces and reshaped it into something beautiful.

"Ignis... You did well to... to bring Noctis home. Wayward though my sons may indeed be, you both have made me proud. May... may you two know happiness."

Ignis reached out with his other hand to take Regis's. "We have known many years of happiness... and now... now we will know an eternity more. I... I would like us to be a family."

Regis didn't wipe away the tear rolling down his cheek. "I think... I think that would be a lovely idea. Would you tell me about your time together? I... I want to know about your lives. I want to know about the future you made for yourselves."

They sat in the gardens until the pale blues of the sky faded to dusty pinks and and yellows before finally hinting with the sweet touches of soft, effervescent purple. Regis listened to every word, every story, every laugh and every cry.

And when little Ignis and little Noctis woke, Regis introduced them to the Prince who had bested a daemon and his beloved who had been willing to give anything to save him.

And they knew nothing but happiness and joy in the beauty of the Beyond.

 _~Fin_

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 ** _I hope I didn't break too many hearts._**

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